


Take It from Me

by onestrangenovelist



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Related, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 02:31:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7739998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onestrangenovelist/pseuds/onestrangenovelist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well,” Keith says. “Are you going to kiss me back, or are you just that awful at kissing?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take It from Me

**Author's Note:**

> What I wanted to do was write a short fic about these two. And then my imagination got out of control and I wrote this. Oh boy. Tbh, Voltron has consumed my life so yeah, 9k fic, should’ve seen it coming.
> 
> Anyway, enough of me, enjoy!
> 
> WARNINGS: swearing, slight sexual implications

"So," Hunk says, leaning over the kitchen counter. "What you're telling me is that, you like Keith."

"No!" Lance shouts, scandalized, then jumps, realizing his volume. He scans the adjoining hallway before continuing, softer. "No, he's the worst. He's always shooting down my ideas, trying to out do me, and probably thinks he's better than all of us— haven't you noticed the way he's always off by himself? Like he's too cool for this goddamn castle."

Hunk doesn't reply. He only raises an eyebrow, skeptical. Lance has been circling around this topic with him for minutes now.

Lance meets his eyes and holds out for about ten seconds. "Except . . . that maybe I like looking at his eyes . . . and his long hair isn't that stupid all the time and he has nice . . . hands, I guess . . ."

Hunk brings the spoon to tap at his lips. "Okay, it's like you've been telling me then, you like Keith."

"No, I don't!" Lance only just resists the urge to slam his hand on the table. "He has a terrible personality."

"But are you attracted to Keith? Like, physically?"

"No!" Lance responds, instinctively, because the thought of him finding anything pleasing about Keith is repulsive.

At least at first. It's not hard to warm up to in the dead of night, drowsy and bored, two fingers pressed to the bow of his lips.

Lance grits his teeth, color dusting his cheeks. "Okay, yes, maybe—but only a little!"

"Buddy, that still means you like him." Hunk exclaims.

"No, god! It's this ship, man!" Lance offers by way of explanation. "We're all stuck on this ship, flying through space, and last time I checked there was only seven of us! And yeah, there's Allura, and maybe she'll come around one day, but the last time I tried I almost got an elbow to the face— "

Hunk's eyes widen. "You what?"

"It wasn't a big deal! I asked for a date! And maybe, a kiss—"

"Lance!"

"Not the point, Hunk." Lance counters, folding his arms over the table. "The point _is_ that we should have a vacation. Look, can't we get Coran or Allura to turn the ship around and fly back to Earth for a bit? We can see other people, do other things—or wait, even better, land on an alien planet full of girls? Because that would be awesome."

"Dude, my god, you need to chill." Hunk tells him, setting down his spoon. "I had no idea you were this desperate to get it on with someone."

"I'm not desperate."

"You're literally talking about putting defending the universe on hold just so you can have at it with alien girls."

"I have to, for my sanity." Lance says, placing his hands on his chest. "Otherwise, I'm thinking of, of, kissing Keith, or something. Do you know how fucked in the head I must be to even think about that? We're rivals! Sworn enemies!"

Hunk comes around the table and takes him by the shoulders. "Listen, you need to relax. Go for a walk, clear your head, and re-direct your focus onto saving the universe with the rest of us."

"But I am focused on saving the universe." Lance whines, extricating himself from Hunk's grasp. "I'm out here with you guys, kicking Galra ass every other day."

"Uh, doesn't really sound like it if you're obsessed with thinking about kissing Keith, or aliens, or whoever." Hunk says.

Lance sighs, hand combing through his hair. "I don't know why I'm talking about this with you."

"Because you can't keep anything to yourself to save your life." Hunk responds in the tone that says 'I know more about you than one person ever should'.

"Anyway, thanks for listening," Lance makes his way to the doorway, grabbing a pouch of water on his way out. He pauses before exiting, adding over his shoulder, "Oh, but if anyone asks, we were shit-talking Keith, got it?"

"Why couldn't it be 'we were talking about yesterday's mission' or 'about the lions'? Why does it always have to be shit-talking?"

Lance waggles a finger at him, "Rivalry never rests, amigo."

 

-

 

Because Lance is a good person that actually takes his friends' advice into humble consideration, he decides to do something he finds ridiculously unexciting: walking.

On Earth it wasn't so bad. There were lots to see on the way to a destination, such as people, stores, dogs digging in the mud. A spaceship floating through the universe was different. There's only so many times a person can pass through the same corridor before wanting to pick a fight with a door because, it's the same goddamn door. Why doesn't it just change color or something?

Maybe Hunk is right though, maybe this walking thing does help you focus or whatever. That's probably why Shiro does it often. He wouldn't know. He's not a walking-person.

Fifteen minutes in, Lance isn't sure it's working. Although he's not particularly thinking about that at the moment, his mind is on other things, like what they're going to have for dinner. Man, he could really go for some pizza, pepperoni with extra cheese. Unbelievable that aliens haven't discovered the holy grail that is pizza. Fuckin' Dominos needs to be universal.

By the end of that thought process he stumbles into the corridor adjacent to the training deck. The green light above the doorway signals that it's in use and Lance doesn't even have to look through the window to know that Keith is in there doing push-ups or something—but he does anyway.

And sure enough, Keith is in there, doing push-ups. Lance rolls his eyes at his predictability. It's like the guy never does anything else.

He doesn't think twice about barging in, mostly because that's what tends to happen whenever the two of them are placed in the same vicinity. Somehow, one gravitates towards the other with malintent (it's usually Lance).

"Sooo, what's up?" Lance announces his presence as he seats himself on the nearest bench.

Keith groans and Lance only regrets that he can't see the sour look on his face from where he's sitting. He grits out, "Not now, Lance."

"What can't a guy come see how his teammate is doing?"

"You never want to see how I'm doing," he says, and then falters upon feeling the heel of Lance's sneakers digging into his back. "What the—get off!"

Keith spins around, dislodging Lance's feet from their position. He glares at him from under his matted fringe, cotton t-shirt saturated with sweat. "Great, thanks, you made me lose count."

"You're welcome," Lance shoots him a smug grin, hand sliding out to block the water bottle beside him as Keith reaches for it. Keith knocks it away, scooting out of range to uncap his bottle in peace.

"Look, don't you have somewhere else to be a complete idiot?" Keith says then, after his first sip.

"Don't you ever do anything other than train?" Lance fires back, arms crossed.

Keith scoffs. "At least my efforts are going to come into actual use when we have to face Galrans. What are you going to do? Scare them away with your napping habits?"

"Hey, I do other things!" Lance protests, going off about how he cleans with Coran on a regular basis, pods and hallways and all. And does Keith remember that one time he helped Hunk chart coordinates? Or the time he assisted Pidge in extracting hardware information?

"Oy, are you listening," Lance calls out to him, but Keith had turned away at some point to start stretching. Lance leans forward and notes his closed eyes, deep breathes, pale arms extended behind his back.

"Whatever," Lance mutters under his breath, reclining onto the seat of the bench. "I don't need his acknowledgment."

He doesn't know why he sticks around. This is the point where he would go off and find someone else to latch onto, but he's comfortable and could do with a breather.

It must be the walking. Fifteen minutes of walking exhausts you to the point where you think you can relax in the same room as mullet-demons.

A few solid minutes of silence stretch between the two of them. The problem is, Lance can only stew in silence for so long before he feels the urge to fill it.

"Y'know what sucks? Not being able to have pizza," Lance starts, one hand dangling off the bench. "I mean we get to visit all these crazy planets and meet aliens but, seriously, what the hell is the universe without a good pizza?"

Keith doesn't reply, but Lance continues regardless. "And free-time. Man, do I miss free time—and, before you say anything, I know we get these breaks in between but I'm talking major free time. Full-blown week vacation, where we don't have to be looking over our shoulders, and we can go swimming, and eat carton-tons of ice cream, and I can go on dates."

"Holy shit." And here Lance shoots up in his seat, hand coming to rest on his chin, "when _was_ the last time I went on a date?"

"Or, the last time I kissed a girl?" he exclaims, hands coming to grasp at the sides of his head. "I can't remember. What if I'm losing my touch? Do I even remember how to kiss?"

Keith's patience with him snaps. He whips around mid-hamstring stretch, eyes narrowing. "Why the hell are you talking to me about this?"

Lance drops his hands, answer coming out of him in a rush. "Nothing. No reason."

Keith holds his gaze, a piercing midnight indigo.

Lance isn't often the focus of Keith's field of vision— he usually has to fight for that kind of attention with crude remarks or haughty challenges — and even then Keith's notice is fleeting, dismissing him as soon as he retaliates. Perhaps that's for the best though, because Keith's eyes on him feel overwhelming. The way he studies him ignites a burn under his skin, stealing his breath.

It reminds him of the way he envisions Keith's eyes at night, dark and hooded, his gloved hands a strong grip on his forearm, pulling him in.

Christ, he needs help. He also really needs to kiss Keith.

In a split second of impulsive rationale, he thinks, maybe he can. But like hell he's going to outright say it, Keith would hold that over his head forever. Lance would rather blast himself with his bayard than give Keith that kind of leverage. Instead, if he could just, throw out a questionable signal . . .

"Nothing," he reiterates, lips parting the slightest bit. "Except . . ."

His eyes flick downward, fast, a brief glimpse of soft pink, before coming back up to meet Keith's, whose widen in understanding.

"Are you out of your mind?" Keith shouts, leaning away, cheeks painting a pale red.

"What?" Lance responds, fighting back his own blush and crossing his arms in a casual manner. "I didn't say anything."

"You didn't, but you looked!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, right," Keith scoffs, jutting his chin. "I'm not so stupid that I can't read between the lines here."

"Oh, really?" Lance says, leaning forward. "And what did you read?"

"That you wanted to," and here Keith seems to lose his words, hands clenching. "You want," he stops again, color spreading to his ears as he settles for pointing an index finger towards his mouth instead.

Lance raises an eyebrow, pretending not to follow.

Keith points at him, shouting harsh. "You want to kiss!"

"Whoah," Lance raises his hands, feigning surprise. "Whoah-ho-ho, not sure where you got that Keith, buddy. I was trying to complete a sentence, but, hey, I'm irresistible and it's understandable. I'd want to kiss me too, so if you really wanna—"

"No, you perverted ass!" Keith tosses his head back, chugging down a furious gulp in a weak attempt to wash the fire truck red off his face. "Don't you dare spin this onto me!"

"Hey, I'm not the one who said it," Lance points out. "The words left your mouth, not mine."

"Words don't have to leave someone's mouth to suggest something, idiot!" Keith gets up, indignant, and begins to gather his things.

"Okay, whatever you want to think, hombre." Lance replies, "I was only being generous because you brought it up. It's not like I actually want to kiss your ugly mug, or anything. I wouldn't do that unless you were the last creature alive and I was really, really dead tired of having no one else. Which, thankfully, isn't the case."

"Oh, shut up, Lance." Keith doesn't even spare him a glance, tossing a towel over his shoulder and making his way to the door.

"Why don't you shut up!" Lance yells back, but it's pointless. Keith has already left the room.

 

-

 

Lance would dwell on how spectacularly that whole circumstance backfired, except he isn't afforded the time. In the next hour, they are up on their feet again, racing to the hangars.

Forming Voltron requires a clear mind, and all their focus in poured into a three-day excursion of blasting away merciless Galra fleets and freeing prisoners. On top of that, being in Galra territory makes it that much harder to throw them off their trail when they finish.

The second Allura announces the ship is clear, Lance collapses onto the nearest vertical surface. He thinks he sleeps a whole 14 hours.

The next day is a breath of fresh air. All five paladins have a free schedule to recover from their latest onslaught. Lance spends the morning chatting with Pidge and Hunk before retreating to hang out in his room.

He's working on compounding his next kickass playlist when he hears a pounding on the other side of his door. Groaning, he hits the pause button on his tablet and slips off his headphones.

He figures that it's Shiro or Coran calling a team meeting to plan their next mode of action, so he throws on his shoes.

"Yes," he answers, the door sliding open to reveal Keith.

Lance blinks. "Oh. Hey."

Keith doesn't respond, simply shoves in. His shoulder bumps against Lance's as he crosses the threshold.

"Yes, please _do_ come in." Lance says, voice dry as he extends a hand in exaggeration. He turns around, door shutting behind him.

Keith has decided to settle on his bed, leaning back on one arm. His gaze sweeps the room before meeting Lance's. "Your room is messy."

"Yeah, well so's yours dipshit."

"You've never been in my room."

"Don't have to in order to recognize a messy person when I see one."

"Speak for yourself."

"Okay, did you just come to my room to insult me or do you have an actual reason to be here, 'cause I'm busy." Lance plops down an arms length away, making a point of pulling the tablet into his lap.

Keith snorts. "That's hard to believe."

"Keith," Lance grits out, wanting to bash his pretty face in. God, why is he trying to ruin his precious down time?

"I've been thinking," Keith says then, and that throws Lance for a loop because one, he's not being ignored, and two, that was not a follow up insult?

"You, what?"

"Thinking," Keith repeats, "you know, it's what you're usually supposed to use your brain for."

'Ah, there it is,' Lance thinks, at the same time that he says, "Hilarious."

Keith continues, as if he didn't hear him, "I was thinking about your offer, and sure. I'll accept. Whatever."

Lance stares at him, blank, his thoughts racing to catch up. Over the past few days he doesn't remember making any specific offers to Keith. Aside from the offer he made to smack him awake when he expressed concern about falling asleep mid-battle (which Keith rejected), there'd only been the failure from the training deck.

'Shoot,' Lance realizes, looking up at Keith who's turned to face him, arms crossed, and expectant. 'He is talking about the one from the training deck.'

"Oh, you mean _your_ offer." Lance corrects him, grinning. "Haha, well, I guess it really is impossible to turn away from my natural charm. To tell you the truth, I'd rather do this with someone else but, alright, if you insist —"

"Shut up, asshole," Keith says then, pinning him against the back wall with a finger to his chest. "You're not fooling anyone."

"Yeah, well neither are you." Lance bats his hand out of the way, puffing his chest. "You came here, so you obviously, desperately want me."

Keith's eyes narrow. "For the record, the only reason I'm doing this is because I'm as "dead tired" as you are of having no one else on this entire ship."

Before Lance can even open his mouth to voice his rebuttal, Keith dives in and captures his lips. Lance goes stiff, hands frozen at his sides in mid-air as his thought process short-circuits to 'plush' and 'warm' and 'Keith'.

Keith pulls away in seconds and Lance struggles to focus in on his face. He notes the drawn eyebrows and downturn of the corner of his lips. Soft, real pink lips that he had just felt against his own. Wow.

"Well," Keith says. "Are you going to kiss me back, or are you just that awful at kissing?"

The sound of a challenge brings him back to himself and he straightens up, hand coming to rest at the back of Keith's neck. "Oh, you haven't seen anything yet Mullet-boy."

He pulls him in.

 

-

 

He, apparently, pulls too hard because their noses collide. Keith's hand flies to his face and he curses at him for being such a fuck-up, but in Lance's defense, "you didn't turn your head the right way!"

Another slew of insults are exchanged and it's like a miracle that anything happens between them at all.

"Slow down," Keith hisses, at one point, hands a steady pressure on his chest. "It's not a race."

"I'm not making it a race," Lance insists, puffing out heated breaths, "maybe you just kiss too slow."

Keith rolls his eyes, closing the gap and moving his lips against his. It's firm and encompassing, the way he presses in and backs out, the brush of their glossy mouths a tease.

"You," he whispers, black lashes fluttering against ruddy cheeks, "are the most annoying person I've ever kissed."

"Same," is all that Lance is able to get out. He's too busy mapping out the shape of Keith's jaw with peppered, wet, kisses, until Keith tilts his head and their lips reconnect, a fire, a dance.

 

-

 

Nothing changes.

After, they return to the regularly scheduled Voltron team duties: active training sessions, keeping ship maintenance, charging into battle after battle on their lions.

In fact, everything goes on so normal that the notion that he and Keith had ever shared a kiss becomes a thought that sits on the back burner. It doesn't cross his mind while they are planning the ship's course together at the helm, or during a race for resources through enemy territory, or through a combat exercise for all five of them on a nearby moon.

The only time the memory resurfaces is when he and Keith are brawling, fighting over the equivalent of a TV remote in the common room.

Lance has the device tucked tight under his stomach, laughing maniacally as Keith struggles to get a hold of it, wriggling over him. All is going according to plan, until Keith leans in, cheek brushing his own.

Lance goes still. The sensory memory is like a whiplash with the way it draws a picture in his head of his cluttered bedroom, his hands in black hair, and the sound of their voices, raw, hushed, hurried.

Right. That was a thing that happened.

Keith steals the remote.

Lance thinks on it afterward. Walking back to his room, he tracks back the time that has passed since.

It's been a while and Keith hasn't shown any signs of wanting to continue, which, okay, super lame, but that's fine. Maybe once is enough to get it out of his system.

He readies for bed and chalks it up to something that won't happen again.

 

-

 

It happens again.

"What?" Lance slams down his glass of alien liquid, finger poised above the holographic map projected over the counter.

Keith stands across the room, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

Lance scowls. "You've been eyeing me all evening, what? You've got a problem?"

"No." Keith answers then, sauntering over and placing his palms flat on the other side of the counter.

Lance gives him a moment but when he doesn't proceed to speak, turns back to flicking through the map. He pages through about two galaxies before stopping because, goddammit, Keith's still staring at him.

"Seriously, what?" Lance snaps at him, giving up on looking at he map.

Keith only leans in, head tilting slightly.

Lance stares.

Keith frowns.

"You wanna go?"

Keith swears, face coloring as he walks around the counter. "You are so slow its unbelievable."

Keith crowds him in fast, back hitting the wall as gloved hands are placed on either side of his shoulders. His pale face hovers, inches from his own.

Lance flushes, getting the picture. "So, uh, we're doing that now, huh?"

"Yeah," Keith says, defiant, lips trembling.

"Yea-h," Lance agrees, voice cracking.

And again.

Lance decides to try his luck, finding Keith sitting alone in a hallway. Back straight and legs crossed, he faces the window, but his eyes are closed to the star-filled scenery outside.

"You, meditating?"

"Mhmm," Keith responds, without even moving an inch. "And it would be great if you didn't disturb me."

Lance stays, eyes drawn to his face, relaxed, poised, eyebrows free of a single wrinkle. He looks nice like this, a picture. Lance finds himself drawn to the details, his smooth cheekbones, the slope of his nose, the curl of his eyelashes.

"You ass," Keith's eyes snap open, angry. "Why are you getting closer, I told you not to—"

Lance cuts him off, humming against pursed lips as Keith opens up, right hand running a path up to his shoulder.

And again.

"You're up early."

"So are you," Lance remarks, seating himself beside him on the sofa. He yawns. "Man, we're too early for breakfast. Sucks."

Keith taps his fingers on the armrest.

It's quiet.

"So," Keith says, then, "what d'you want to do until the rest of the team wakes up?"

Lance looks at him, feels desire bloom, unbidden, in his chest. "Well . . ."

And again.

Wordless, they pause upon seeing each other at opposite ends of the hall.

Lance is on his way to Pidge for technological advice and Keith is on his way to something, but then neither of them is on their way to anything but that alcove in the corner.

And again.

"I knew your room was messy!"

"Shut up," Keith grumbles, yanking him through the door and grabbing a fistful of his t-shirt. "I didn't bring you in here to talk, so are you going to get to it, or not?"

Lance beams. "Yes sir!"

And again.

This time Lance is framed between Keith's knees, Keith himself seated on the kitchen counter.

He chases the cherry-sweet flavor of a beverage in his hot mouth, tongues meeting in frantic presses, toes curling in his sneakers.

And again.

A chaste goodnight peck becomes something more, slow, deep. Fingers trace patterns on jawbones, on cheeks, their mouths disengaging with a quiet pop.

And again.

A fire in his veins, Keith pressed up against him in the shadows of the hangar, sweaty, seconds after battle.

"Keith," he whispers, hoarse, in between. "We shouldn't," and god, is it hard to think when Keith sucks on his bottom lip like that, "the others."

"Gone," Keith inhales, sharp, their lips meeting, again, again, "can't", and his tongue slips back into Lance's mouth, urgent, demanding, hands tugging at auburn hair.

A thigh slides between his legs and Lance moans, desperate, burning, dizzy, wanting Keith close, closer, his mouth a sin, thinking, ohmygod, ohmygod, until Keith rolls his hips, gasping, "Fuckfuck _fuck_ , _Keith_ — "

 

-

 

"You two are acting weird." Pidge observes one evening.

They are gathered in the common room, all five of them. Hunk is running through some physics formulas on an electronic notebook, Shiro dozing on a sofa, Pidge on her computer.

Lance's head is pillowed on Keith's thigh, a hand resting in his hair, the two of them in front of the ship's version of television. Although Keith isn't paying attention to the screen, too busy scrolling on his tablet.

"What? Who?" Lance responds, not catching her words.

"You and Keith," Pidge repeats, eyeballs peeking out from above her screen. "You're acting weird."

"What?" Lance hears this time and frowns because, now, it's personal. "We are not! How?"

Pidge sits up here, hand waving in their direction. "You guys are sitting next to each other. Wait, not even, you're lying on Keith, Lance."

Lance snorts, not even bothering to move. "So? You lean on Shiro all the time when he sits next to you."

"That's different," Pidge says. "Shiro is amiable with me, with everyone! You and Keith bicker constantly and now, you're touching and leaning on each other and getting along?"

"Whoah, okay," And here Lance sits up, arms crossing. "Since when aren't we allowed to "get along", whatever happened to "Keith, Lance, why can't you guys stop yelling at each other"? Does that not matter anymore? Should we go back to always fighting?"

Hunk groans. "No, god no, please don't go back to always fighting."

"Lance," Shiro cuts in. "Believe me when I say that we all appreciate the fact that you and Keith are starting to get along."

"Thank you, Shiro." Lance smiles, and then turns around to give Pidge a pointed look.

"I wasn't saying you should stop." Pidge huffs, leaning back into her chair. "I was just saying that it was weird at how fast your relationship was changing." Pidge goes back to typing, muttering, "Like two teenagers in a romcom, or something."

"Whatever."

Lance does his best to not let that side comment get to him, reclining back into his original position. It wasn't changing that fast. They were still stone-cold enemies. Only sometimes they could put that aside to enjoy the comfort of each other's laps.

Keith looks down as he resettles, blinking. "Wait, you moved? What happened, were we talking?"

"Way to pay attention to your surroundings, Keith."

He scowls. "Listen, I was reading up on info about security levels on different Galra bases."

"Geez, don't you ever take any breaks?"

"Don't you ever do anything useful?"

Hunk sighs. "Great, and now they're fighting."

 

-

 

As much as Lance likes hanging out with the rest of the team, he really likes the moments he and Keith are alone.

Yeah, they get to kiss as much as they want, and that's fun, needless to say. Sometimes though, Lance just likes to sprawl out next to him, soaking in his company.

"How'd you live out there anyway?" Lance asks. He's propped up on an elbow, heel of a sneaker resting against the glass of a window. His fingertips dance along Keith's open palm. "In the middle of a desert, I mean?"

Keith turns away from the view of the stars, head shifting against where it rests on his arm. "Uh, the same way you'd live anywhere else?"

"No," Lance says. "Like, the desert's a harsh place. It's super hot, no pools of water and it hardly rains! How did you not die of the heat burning you alive and stuff?"

"You make it sound like I didn't have AC." Keith snorts.

"Oh come on, you must've gone outside sometime." Lance nudges at him with a soft kick.

"It wasn't always that bad." Keith says, head turning to look back out the window. "It's cooler at night, y'know. That's the best time to be out, you wouldn't even feel an inch of the heat and you could just ride out there for miles."

Lance hums in agreement, watching the way the dimmed light of the ship makes his pale skin glow, makes his lavender eyes shine.

"And the view was amazing," Keith adds. "If you drove all the way out to the top of one of the plateaus, you could see all the gaps between the cliffs narrowing in the distance, until they become these little crevices, like lines on a roadmap, leading you the stars."

For a second, he sees it. Keith seated on a ledge, legs dangling over the edge, the moonlight a halo around his dark hair.

"Did you ever think you would get here, out to space?"

Keith scoffs. "You don't go into the galaxy garrison to be a pilot if you didn't think you could make it to space, Lance."

"Yeah, but you got kicked out," Lance reminds him.

"Minor setback," Keith says, light a fire in his eyes. "I knew there was more out there that we were missing. I was always going to find a way."

Keith always comes alive like that. Jaw set and lips pursed, Lance doesn't think he's ever seen a human being with as much raw tenacity as Keith. He'll go up against any odds, no matter what. Even if they're stacked up high against him, there's something about his posture that makes it easy to believe he'll pull through.

And he did. This time, he did.

"You did," Lance says, fingers coming to wrap around his palm, firm.

Keith looks at him.

Lance nods in the direction of the glass window. "You found a way."

His eyes flick over once, taking in the view of millions and millions of planets and galaxies, before meeting Lance's.

Keith smiles at him, simple. "Yeah."

 

-

 

They're rushing to the helm of the ship, shoes skidding on smooth flooring. The faint sound of Coran's voice over the intercom echoes in their ears.

"What's happening?" Shiro is the first to speak up as they enter, the rest of them falling into line.

Allura turns around from her place at the helm, eyebrows drawn together, and lips downturned. "We picked up on the last frequencies of a distress signal."

"From who?" Hunk asks.

"A crew of young combatants." Coran says, and here he brings up a playback window. "We were able to listen in on a final transmission before they were captured."

Coran plays the audio. It's a mess of young voices shouting commands, firing blasts, and a captain pleading for help in a ship under heavy fire.

"Based on their dialect, I've been able to ID them as residents from a planet in another sector." Allura brings up a map for reference. "It appears they made an inaccurate jump straight into Galra territory, which is especially bad since they're a small crew transporting military equipment."

"The Galra don't take kindly to anyone else displaying military prowess, huh?" Pidge comments, hand coming to rest on a hip.

"They don't," Allura says. "Even more so if you're from a sector they're still trying to conquer."

"Shoot," Lance hears himself say without thinking.

"So," Shiro looks around. He makes sure he has everyone in agreement before asking. "What's the plan?"

It's one of the riskiest things they've decided to do thus far.

They're going to have to infiltrate a Galra base to rescue the crew, recover their ship, download Galra intel, and make it back to the castle. All without forming Voltron.

Under normal circumstances, they wouldn't take that kind of risk, but Blue has been out of commission since the last mission. Lance's shoulder aches just remembering the beating he'd taken. It's thanks to everyone else's quick thinking that he wasn't mauled completely.

"If we play it right with Shiro, Hunk, and I, acting as main distraction to draw fire in the air," Allura says. "Lance, Pidge, and Keith, you all will be able to sneak into and out of the base in a relatively smooth fashion."

The strategy is finalized and they depart, making the journey to the armory to suit up.

Details are being addressed as they make their way, but Lance is only half listening, going over the blueprints in his head.

He and Pidge have sections that aren't too bad in terms of infantry but, since Keith volunteered to recover the crew's craft, the numbers for his are near overwhelming.

Lance watches him. Keith talks in a sure manner, back straight and motions composed. He doesn't know what to make of that, so he keeps watching, as if something will reveal itself in the slope of his shoulders, the curl of his fingers.

Nothing does. Lance doesn't realize how hard he's staring, until Keith catches his gaze right as they enter the armory. Lance averts his eyes, pretending to listen to Shiro, only to be caught red-handed when he looks back too soon, meeting Keith's inquiring stare.

Everyone else splits off to get changed, but Keith keeps Lance pinned with a question. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

Keith frowns. "It's obvious when you're holding your tongue."

"Keith," Lance whines, "You're holding us up from the others, we're wasting time, and this is a very intense mission for y—us."

It might've been the slip of the tongue, or the look on his face, but something gives it away to Keith, whose expression smoothens in an instant.

"Lance," Keith says then, and, oh no, Lance did not like the sight of that growing smirk right now. "Are you worried? About me?"

Lance hates the way he can feel the fire of a thousand suns burning into his cheeks. "No! What the hell gave you that idea!"

Keith laughs. "I don't know? Maybe the fact that you're looking at me like I'm going to break any minute?"

"You're so full of shit!" Lance says, but it's fruitless. He probably looks every bit the bumbling, flustered mess that he feels.

"Sure," Keith says, still enjoying it. The bastard.

"You're being dumb, conversation over, goodbye!" He decides he doesn't have to take this and spins on his feet, stomping away for good measure.

"Wait."

His foolish subconscious has decided he hasn't suffered enough embarrassment today because he actually stops. He glances over his shoulder, expecting the worst, but is taken aback by the softer expression on Keith's face.

"Uhm," Keith starts and then stops, eyes glancing downward. "If you are worried about me, you shouldn't be." He shifts, arms folding before looking up again. "I'm fine, you've seen me fight. I'll be fine."

Lance blinks, mesmerized by the way pink flourishes across the bridge of Keith's nose and over the whole of his face. He has the most ridiculous urge to walk over and feel the heat of it under his hands.

"Anyway, don't go doing anything too stupid."

Keith makes a hurried exit into his changing room before Lance can recover to say anything about the fact that he just told him to "be careful". As if Lance was the one going into perilous guard-heavy territory.

'Fuck,' Lance thinks, covering his eyes and feeling the stupid, stupid way something tightens in his chest.

 

-

 

"Behind you!"

Lance fires at the soldier in front of him and spins around so fast, it's a miracle that his subsequent shot lands its mark. The last of the Galra soldiers drops to the ground, weapon clattering along with him.

He breathes heavy, scanning the corridor one final time, before lowering his weapon.

"That was a close one." One of the crew, their Captain, says from beside him. The rest stand behind her.

"Yeah, tell me about it." Lance says, leading them forward. "It's a good thing I'm an excellent marksman on top of being a pilot."

"Really," she says, head cocking. "You fly?"

Lance grins, readjusting his grip on his weapon, "You'll find I'm a man of many talents."

"Lance, status report," Shiro calls out to him over the comm.

"Prisoners secure," he responds, stopping at a corner to check the next hallway before continuing. "I'm leading them to the exit as we speak."

"Good," Shiro says, "Pidge, and you?"

"Intel downloaded." She confirms, "I'm heading out."

"Keith, how're you holding up?"

The sound of metal scraping against metal is the first thing that rings in through his transmission before he speaks, gruff. "Alright. A little pressed for room with all these guys down here."

Lance hears a shuffle and then a grunt, imagines Keith to be pulling his weapon out from an impaled enemy. "But I'm holding ground."

"How close are you to the ship?" Lance can't help asking. "Do you need back up?"

"Close," Keith says. "I'm okay, I see it up ahea—wait, what's that guy—"

A boom, a bursting clap explodes in his ears. It reminds him of instances where he accidentally played music in his headphones too loud.

But this is different.

This is an explosion that drills into his head, that reverberates in the floor under his feet, that steals his breath away like a sucker punch.

"Keith?" That's Shiro's voice, coming through the comm, alarmed. "Keith, come in?"

"Keith," Hunk's voice calls out, frantic, "are you there?"

Lance's throat hurts, an inexplicable lead weight pressing hard against his rib cage. He turns around, eyes flitting over the corridor, searching, as if it would do anything, as if it would give him more insight into what just happened.

"Keith," Someone is saying, once, twice, three times, before their panic-stricken voice gives out altogether, breaths ragged and harsh, and holy shit, he realizes. That's him.

He tries to speak again but he can't, he can't even breathe. He can't _fucking_ breathe because Keith isn't answering in that damn calm voice of his.

"I'll be fine," he'd said, "You've seen me fight", he'd said.

"What's wrong," Lance hears someone say over his shoulder, but it's dull to his senses. His ear is trained on Shiro's voice over the comm shouting that someone has to go after Keith because they don't know if he's been injured.

Or worse.

Lance's vision swims. He thinks he's going to throw up.

"We need to move," that's the Captain speaking, yanking him by the shoulder. "There's been a detonation."

'I know,' Lance wants to yell, wants to scream, images of Keith flashing through his mind: his violet eyes under starlight, the black of his hair against white sheets, the way he smiles, trusting, when they sit side-by-side.

Where is he?

Where is he?

"I can't," Lance says, tearing away. "I've got to— someone's hurt and I need to— "

"Guys?"

Once again, Lance's world comes to an entire halt.

"Keith?" Pidge responds, and then Shiro, and Hunk.

"Yeah, it's me."

Lance's first impulse is to respond with a string of swears, but what comes out instead is a simple, "Keith, what?"

"Almost got hit by a bomb. Dodged it, but the impact still knocked me out for a bit."

Lance is hit by a strong wave of something, maybe relief, he can't be sure because Allura speaks, urgent. "Paladins, I urge you to hurry. Reinforcements to the base are on their way."

He turns back to the crew, waiting before him. "Change of plans, we have to move fast!"

He motions for them to follow and runs down an alternate route.

 

-

 

Lance doesn't know what he expects his first reaction to be upon seeing Keith in the castle, but it isn't this tearing up nonsense that's overcoming him.

He attempts to hide behind Shiro who, along with Allura, is inquiring the crew about their capture and their ship. Lance keeps his attention firmly planted on some point over Shiro's shoulder, taking deep breaths.

When they're dismissed, he feels better and makes his way to the showers.

He runs into Keith on his way out.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey." Keith says back.

They stand in silence.

"So," Lance points at the place on his cheek. "You got a?"

"Oh," Keith brings a hand up to the healing scratch on his face. "Yeah, some guy got me in the skirmish."

"Sounds like it was brutal."

"It was."

Lance steps closer, meaning to go around him, but there's this look in Keith's eyes that draws him forward instead. He doesn't know what it means. He thinks he'd like to know.

He reaches out to grab, gentle, at Keith's elbow.

Keith gasps, jerking in his grip.

"Sorry," Lance apologizes. "Sorry, did that hurt?"

"No, it didn't," Keith says, glancing down at where Lance still holds his arm, touch feather light. "It didn't, it just . . ."

Keith doesn't finish, words breaking off the instant they make eye contact.

Lance only then notes how close they are. The scarlet cut across his cheek is vivid, droplets of shower water glistening in his hair. His breaths are shallow and warm, each exhale a reminder, fanning across his skin.

Keith is here. Keith is still here. Alive.

He scrunches his eyes shut, hating the way he can feel the emotion crawling back up his throat.

"Lance."

His voice is too much.

Lance moves on instinct, arms wrapping around him and fingers twisting, hard into loose black cotton. Keith stumbles, back hitting the wall, even as he pulls Lance close. His hands curl around his side, the nape of his neck, a burning touch that makes him wheeze into Keith's shoulder.

"Don't start crying on me, moron." Keith says, insult falling flat as his voice breaks. "You've never cried over me before so don't start now."

"You can't tell me what to do, jerk," Lance chokes out.

"I'm going to push you off." Keith threatens, shaking, his breathes beginning to rattle. "If I even feel a single tear, I'm going to."

He doesn't.

 

-

 

Lance is a gracious host, so when the Captain asks if he will allow her a closer look at the lions of Voltron, he obliges.

He walks her around the hangar, explaining the specifics of each lion as he goes along. Her eyes are alight in a fascination that grows with each minute as they weave in and around the mechanical beasts.

"And last but not least, this here is Blue," he walks over to pat a sturdy leg. "She's the friendliest of the bunch aside from being the coolest. Also happens to be in for repairs right now, but, a few more tweaks and she'll be ready for action in no time."

"Wow," the Captain remarks, noting the nicks along her torso. "What happened?"

"Took a heavy beating from a Galra fleet. She ended up crash landing on a moon. Wasn't pretty."

"Must've been rough for her pilot."

"Nah, it wasn't anything we couldn't handle." Lance shoots her a grin, leaning back against a leg.

"Oh, well excuse me." She walks up to Lance, folding her arms across her chest, and smiling. "So, you're her pilot huh?"

"Like I said," Lance waves a hand. "Man of many talents."

The Captain leans back, pretending to survey him, before speaking. "So I see."

Their gazes lock and Lance feels the air grow heavy around them. He shifts, suddenly not liking the feel of such cold metal against his back, or the way his clothes feel on his skin.

"I know I've said it before," She says then. "But seriously, thank you for coming to save my crew and I. Back there, I was afraid no one would."

"No problem." Lance says, attempting a shrug. "I'm a paladin of Voltron. It's what we do."

She takes a step closer.

Lance isn't stupid. He knows where this is going because, if there's any mood he can pick up on, it's this one. Her body language is unmistakable. The way she leans into him, personal. The tilt of her head, a message.

He stands stiff, letting her come to him and trying to ease his breathing. In, one, two, three, his shirt collar is tight. Out, one, two three, her scent is unfamiliar.

He closes his eyes and sees Keith, laughing, their bodies pressed close, lips a centimeter, a millimeter apart.

He stops her, two hands pressed to her chest.

Lance blinks, brows furrowing. "Sorry, I don't—"

"No, no, it's fine." She backs away, collecting herself. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have."

She gives one final compliment on the lions before saying something about going to check on her crew.

Lance watches her go, standing by his lion, his thoughts a mess.

Not too long ago he had been dying for this kind of opportunity. An empty room, a super hot alien to kiss, no way he would've passed it up. But he did. He just did, and for what? Because it didn't feel right that his kissing partner wasn't Keith?

'Keith is a stand in,' Lance reminds himself. 'Keith is a stand in until you actually find beautiful aliens to make out with. So, what the fuck?'

 

-

 

Later that night, Lance thinks that maybe she just wasn't the right alien. Maybe she's not his type. Maybe if it were another alien captain he would've done it. If it were that super hot Cadet from the Garrison, he definitely would've done it.

Except, when he tries to envision it, he can't. He doesn't want to.

He wants to go to sleep. He wants to lie down next to Keith and forget about it. He wants to hear Keith mumble out a fond "stupid", curling up close, drifting off to the sound of his snores.

Lance stares awake.

Something is very, very wrong with him.

 

-

 

"Hunk, amigo," he sits across him in the common room. "I need to ask you a question."

"Lance, can it wait?" Hunk gives only the briefest of glances, fingers busy flying over the keyboard in his lap. "I'm trying to help Pidge run some diagnostics."

"I know, important tech stuff, I get it." Lance says, leaning into him and throwing an arm over his shoulder. "But I also know my bestest buddy in the whole wide universe wouldn't mind sparing me a minute?"

Hunk sighs, putting his laptop aside. "You're lucky to have me."

Lance beams. "I know."

"So, what's up?"

Lance claps his hands together, settling back in his seat. "Is it possible to only want to kiss one person for the rest of your life?"

"Uh," Hunk raises an eyebrow, "that's called falling in love with someone, my dude."

Lance almost chokes.

Him? Falling in love with Keith? As in the 'we have dinner over candlelight, send each other bouquets, and sing cheesy duets' type of love? What the fuck kind of idea is that?

"No, no, no, no." Lance shakes his head, throwing out a hand. "There's got to be some other kind of explanation."

"Like what, kiss-mates?"

"Yeah," Lance snaps his fingers at that. "Kiss-mates for life, or something. Y'know, just someone you like kissing and touching and stuff."

A snort comes from behind. "That's about the stupidest shit I've ever heard."

"Pidge!" Lance's head whips around, catching her coming through the doorway. "This is a private conversation!"

Pidge rolls her eyes, coming around the sofa. "Well, if you didn't want to be overheard you shouldn't be having one in a public area."

She hands a USB to Hunk, saying something about inputting codes before turning back to Lance. "Anyway, just admit you have a thing for Keith. It's obvious you guys like each other with all the cuddling and handholding."

"Wait, what," Hunk looks at her. "You've caught them cuddling?"

"Yup, out in the hallway, watching stars. It was grossly romantic."

"Man, I've only ever walked in on the awkward parts where they're shoving tongues down each other's throats."

Lance wants to evaporate. Right now. Just beam him the fuck up to space heaven. Why were they kissing and touching in public again? That was dumb, now everyone thinks he has romantic inclinations for mortal enemy number one. Which he doesn't.

"Okay, you know what, forget I ever said anything." Lance gets up from his seat, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'm just going to go figure this out in my room, come up with a more 'sane' explanation."

"Lance wait," Hunk goes after him. He pulls him aside in the corridor. "Look, it's not a bad thing that you like Keith."

"I don't like him."

"No one kisses someone they don't like."

"He still sucks as a person, he's just a good kisser."

"How can you even say that when you were losing it over the possibility of his death last mission?"

Lance starts to speak, stutters, and then stops, silent, unable to deny.

"I get that you have this 'pretend rivalry' thing going on with him but, if you would drop the act for one second, you'd see that you're just running around the obvious. That he's not a bad person and you really like him." Hunk says.

Lance grumbles, eyes still averted. "It's not pretend."

"Dude, it is literally all up in your head." Hunk sighs. "Keith only responds because you provoke him. Otherwise, he's pretty chill with you."

He thinks about all the times Keith has opened up to him, talking about conspiracy theories and racing on speeders and his fear of being forgotten. Not exactly something someone would do with a rival. Not something that he doesn't want Keith to stop doing either.

Lance huffs, muttering.

"What was that?"

"I said, okay, okay, fine." Lance throws his hands up. "Maybe I don't hate Keith, or something. I don't know, give me some space, I need a while to come to terms with this."

Hunk smiles, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm sure it won't take you long."

 

-

 

Hunk is right.

Keith is courage in the face of adversity, fighting against waves upon waves of soldiers by himself to obtain a single ship. Keith is dedication, hours spent practicing, sweating on the training deck. Keith is wonder, watching the stars in the desert, on the ship, marveling at the mysteries of the universe.

If it were anyone else displaying those traits, Lance would've been all over them in a heartbeat. It's just that Keith happened to be his rival, his lifelong opponent that he vowed to beat, to dislike, because Keith turned away when he first tried to converse with him during lecture.

'He hates me,' Lance remembers thinking as Keith put distance between them, throwing a look over his shoulder. 'He means to make an enemy out of me.'

But that was before Lance learned who Keith was as a person. A man of few words, a focused student.

Perhaps their rivalry didn't have much merit in the first place.

 

-

 

Lance finds Keith where he always does when he can't sleep, at the helm. He sits on the elevated platform, arms resting on folded knees, watching their ship's course on a projected map.

"Hey," Lance announces his presence, coming to sit beside him.

Keith acknowledges him with a nod before shifting so that their shoulder's touch.

It's innocent but the action still makes Lance's heart race.

He wonders if it has a similar effect on Keith. The flush of pink across the bridge of his nose tells him that it does.

'That's cute,' Lance actually hears himself think for once, before the rival instinct kicks in with an alarmed scream and the urge to strangle his own neck.

"So, uh," Lance coughs into his hand. "Have we passed anything interesting?"

"A marshmallow planet. White, sugar, might've been edible."

Lance whips around to face him. "Dude, really?"

Keith smirks.

Lance smacks him in the arm. "Jerk."

Keith laughs. "Not my fault you fall for shit like that every time."

"It's space, Keith. No one knows everything about it. Anything is possible, even marshmallow planets."

"Or you could just admit that you're gullible."

"Shut up, you're gullible."

"Nailed it, ten-ten, good comeback."

"I hate talking to you."

Keith huffs out a breath, amused smile tickling his lips as he turns back to gaze at the map. "Uh huh," he says. "Sure."

Lance mutters, folding his arms across his chest and frowning, yet unable to look away from Keith. His smiles tend to have that effect. Intense and radiant, they steal his attention from the room, the stars, even his own thoughts.

Lance thinks it's scary that one person can have that much power over him. He also thinks he'd die in the best way possible if Keith smiled up at him, encased in his arms.

'Holy shit,' Lance can only think to himself, hand coming up to swipe roughly over his face as he bends forward. 'Holy shit, holy shit.'

"Lance?"

Keith's looking at him funny, forehead scrunched, the silent question of "are you alright" passing between them. Lance wants to lie, say no, but at the same time, he wants to stop lying.

Lance takes a deep breath, sitting up. "Okay, Keith, I have, I want to say something."

Keith waits.

Lance stares at the hands on his knees, sweating. 'Three words, Lance. Not that hard. Come on, you can do it.'

"Keith."

"Yeah?"

"I," Lance brings a hand to his cheek, stomach roiling, chest heaving. "Keith, I like you."

He immediately covers his mouth, looking over at Keith with wide eyes. "Whoah, I actually said that without throwing up."

Keith glares. "You are the biggest asshole in the entire universe."

"Oh, come on!" Lance throws his hands up in the air. "Here I am, sitting with you, confessing that I like you and I'm the asshole."

"Yes!" Keith shoves at him and Lance goes sprawling back. He intends to get up, shove him back, but Keith stops him, head burying into his chest.

He speaks, voice muffled in his grey t-shirt. "You're a stupid, talkative asshole with the most ridiculous delusions and I can't believe I like you back."

His whole body tingles at that, something in him jumping, soaring. It leaves him unable to move, unable to think. All he can do is lie there, staring at the holographic blue planets swirling above and feeling Keith, soft, affectionate, against him.

After sometime, Keith lifts his head.

Lance feels himself grow hot, meeting his stare.

"So," Keith speaks first. "Are you going to stop pretending that you hate my guts now?"

"Hmmm, I dunno. Maybe."

Keith pinches him.

"Ow, ow, Keith." Lance squirms away, frowning. "It was a joke, geez."

"Okay then, I forgive you," Keith says. "Maybe."

Lance sighs, hand coming to rest at the base of his neck, thumb stroking at exposed skin. "Alright, I'm sorry. I'm a dick, but I'll work on it. Okay?"

Keith assents to that, smiling, and Lance leans in, capturing the delight on his lips.

It feels like a beginning.


End file.
